


Brittle Wires

by golari



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boss/Employee Relationship, Disability, F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golari/pseuds/golari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It became clear very quickly that Asami Sato was a bit of legend at Future Industries. You weren’t surprised, exactly, but it was funny how much she actually fit the word. The exaggerated—because they <i>had</i> to be—stories about her that floated throughout the cafeteria. The way everyone would immediately snap to attention in her presence. The way she could command a room, even if she was only breezing through it. To your co-workers, Asami Sato was an enigma not to be decoded, just viewed from a distance.</p><p>But Asami Sato was not the reason you had come to work at Future Industries. Against all odds, Future Industries had not only decided to give you a grant straight out of university, but they let you hand pick a team to make your dream a reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brittle Wires

**Author's Note:**

> worldofneesh said: Oh! “We’re coworkers and you got flowers delivered to you and I’m mad, but I’m not sure why.” 
> 
> This fic is so far outside of the original prompt, it's probably not even worth including it. But for posterity, or whatever, that prompt was the beginning of this monster.

1.

It wasn’t until your second day that you met her. She was supposed to have been at your orientation, but there had been some sort of fire that only the CEO of Future Industries could put out and honestly, you hadn’t missed her presence all that much.

Asami Sato was the busiest person in the city, and it wasn’t like you had really expected to be personally welcomed by her, or anything.

Which was why, when Asami Sato walked into your new office in a dark red power suit and boots that made you flinch, you were so startled that you dropped an entire binder full of proposals, missing your desk and sending papers in every direction.

“O-oh, my god, I’m sorry,” you stammered as you crouched to gather everything into your arms.

She laughed, and you realized that all those times you had heard her speak on the news, or during a press conference, you had never heard her _laugh_ before. It was wonderful.

She stooped down to your level and collected a few wayward papers from around your feet. “I think it’s me who should be apologizing, I should have knocked. But your door was open and—”

“And you own the building,” you said with a dismissive wave of your hand as you stood. “Definitely don’t worry about it.” You gave her a grateful smile when you accepted her handful of papers and blindly set them back onto your desk. “I’m Korra,” you said as you extended your hand.

“My new project manager.” She took your hand firmly, and her fingers were cool against yours. “Asami. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet with you and your team yesterday, but is there anything I can do now to help you settle in?”

You shrugged. “I’m just getting started. Though,”—you cast a look around the room—“I think the office might be a bit much? I’d be happy with a cubicle down with the rest of the team, honestly. Work closer to them, you know?”

Her face, which until that point had only held a bland, pleasant expression, shifted. It was as if she were studying you, and you suddenly felt as if you were under a microscope. “Er—” you backtracked, “not that I’m not like, incredibly, _ridiculously_ grateful. This office is awesome and I have a window and I’m definitely not complaining and it’s really, really nice of you just—”

The corner of her mouth hooked upwards, just a little. “I completely understand. And empathize, really,” she said amicably. “Tell you what; why don’t you keep the office? I think you might find it useful after a few weeks down there. But I’ll make sure you get a desk with the others too.”

You nodded slowly, still a little embarrassed at your rambling. “Alright, I appreciate it.”

“It was wonderful to meet you, Korra. I am really looking forward to working with you, Future Industries is incredibly excited about your work. _I’m_ incredibly excited about your work. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.”

You ducked your head. “I will. Thank you, Ms Sato.”

“Asami,” she corrected.

“Asami,” you agreed.

 

2.

It became clear very quickly that Asami Sato was a bit of legend at Future Industries. You weren’t surprised, exactly, but it was funny how much she actually fit the word. The exaggerated—because they _had_ to be—stories about her that floated throughout the cafeteria. The way everyone would immediately snap to attention in her presence. The way she could command a room, even if she was only breezing through it. To your co-workers, Asami Sato was an enigma not to be decoded, just viewed from a distance.

But Asami Sato was not the reason you had come to work at Future Industries. Against all odds, Future Industries had not only decided to give you a grant straight out of university, but they let you hand pick a team to make your dream a reality.

It hadn’t been a lifelong dream—not by a long shot—but it had consumed you, and there was no way you were going to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. Not when Future Industries and your ragtag team were counting on you. So you bowed your head and got to work, ignoring the persistent whispers about your mysterious new boss and whatever small, curious part of yourself that couldn’t help but be just as in awe of her as everyone else.

Because even at a distance, Asami Sato was definitely awe inspiring. You never spoke to her beyond the occasional polite nod of the head or pleasantries exchanged as you passed each other in the hall. But every Friday you would send up a report on your progress, and every Monday you would return to work to find it on your desk, neatly inked with delicate sketches and thoughtful notes. And they were always helpful. You supposed that behind every legend must have been at least a small amount of truth.

Your team had surprised you as well. You knew they were talented, of course, but they were also friendly and easy to work with, even when you were all working your sixty-sixth hour of the week and you were more exhausted than you thought possible.

So when Bolin—endearing, goofy, surprisingly smart Bolin—suggested that you all go out together for burger and beer night at a nearby bar, you had readily agreed. You were happy to have found a group of people you got along with, especially considering that you’d only moved into the city a week before starting your new job, and you basically knew no one.

“Just let me grab my stuff from the office, I’ll meet you there,” you told them as they got onto the elevator.

You took the stairs. It felt good.

You were hardly ever in your office, but she had been right; you _did_ like having it sometimes. It was a quiet space to retreat to when you needed a short nap or even just a snack, and you appreciated the option. You stuffed your binder into your bag and threw it over your shoulder before heading out.

It being almost nine on a Friday night, the office was largely empty. That was probably why you were able to hear it; a low melody and the gentle tapping of a pen against wood in the relative silence of the hallway.

It was coming from Asami Sato’s office. The door had been left ajar and you couldn’t help but slow your step and peek past the frame.

She was bent over her desk, her head leaned forward against her hand as she absentmindedly hit her pen against her desk in time with the music drifting from her radio. She was staring down at a project binder, her brow furrowed in concentration, and she looked more tired than you had ever seen her.

You wanted to say something, and you almost did, but she really did look busy. You had no idea what kind of stress Asami Sato lived her life under, and you decided with a slight shake of your head not to bother her. So you moved on, slipping past the open door without a word or a wave.

 

3.

The carbon fiber just wasn’t working. Not if you wanted to keep your current level of customization, anyway. It wasn’t quite strong enough, and to add more would make your prototype too heavy. Bolin had taken it hard, and had left work early to stew in his own guilt. You had wanted to stop him, but Jinora—sincere, kind, perceptive Jinora—had put a hand on your shoulder and shook her head, and you had let him leave.

It was no one’s fault, really, not even yours, but that didn’t stop you from feeling just as much the failure as Bolin probably felt. Material was his area of expertise though, and even with the hiccup you had just as much faith in him as the day you had asked him to join your team.

But regardless of your faith, it was still a low point for the team, and you just needed a break. You had told everyone to go home early—“Even you, Jinora, I mean it,”—but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. Instead, you took the stairs to the roof of Future Industries for some fresh air. It felt good.

It was an oppressively hot day. The thick air stuck to your lungs and tasted like stale water. You had never been great with heat—you were from the deep, _deep_ south and it never got hot like it did in the city. You were beginning to get used to it though—a thought that mortified you.

You slumped against a wall and looked out at the city. After all these weeks its streets were finally starting to become familiar to you. You were facing the road that you took when walking home—which you did as often as you could—and if you swung a left at the first intersection the road would lead you to a little park with the pond. You liked it there; it hummed with the sound of families and children and smelled a little bit like fish. It alleviated your homesickness, if only for a little while.

If you instead took a right at that intersection, that was where Narook’s was, the authentic southern-style noodle place. Mako—thoughtful, handsome, slightly dull Mako—had invited you there one afternoon after you had complained about the cafeteria noodles. It had been nice, even if he hadn’t laughed at your jokes at the right times and had insisted on paying, even though you had _definitely_ eaten more than he had.

But, when he asked to take you home, he hadn’t batted an eye when you had told him that you wanted to walk all four miles to get there, so you’d kissed his cheek in the end, even if you hadn’t invited him up.

The door to the stairwell slammed open, and you jerked in surprise. There was the loud “clack” of heels and the sound of the door falling closed just before Asami Sato appeared in your field of view and walked straight to the edge of the roof.

She planted both hands on the cement ledge, leaning forward onto them. Her eye twitched—in anger or stress, you couldn’t quite tell—and she pinched her eyes shut for a few seconds before straightening again.

She smoothed out her blazer with a flat palm and reached into her pocket, fishing out a rumpled pack of cigarettes. She slipped one into her mouth and lit it in one smooth motion, taking a deep drag and holding the smoke in her lungs for a moment before letting it out in a slow, steady stream.

You knew, objectively, that Asami Sato was attractive. She graced covers of magazines and made “top ten” lists for both her brilliance and her sex appeal. But now, in this quiet, unguarded moment, she shed her enigmatic, untouchable facade and her gears were exposed.

And she was beautiful.

You wanted to make yourself small. You felt as if you were intruding on something intimate and that this moment wasn’t meant for you—it wasn’t meant for anyone. But she only needed to look a few degrees to her left to spot you, and you knew it was only a matter of time before she would. Better to make your presence known now, before your retreat became any more awkward—or creepy.

You leaned off the wall, and some gravel crunched under your shoe. “Uhm—”

Smooth, Korra.

She turned in surprise, pulling the cigarette away from her mouth. You gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ll—uh, I’m gonna—”

“Busted,” she muttered with a grim, embarrassed smile. She turned towards you, leaning her hip against the ledge and crossing her arms. “Out for air?”

You nodded a little apprehensively. “Y-yeah.”

Fuck, you were so awkward.

She turned back to look out at the city and gestured vaguely for you to join her. “Don’t let me stop you.”

You blinked, surprised, but after a beat you shuffled over anyway. She tugged her pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and offered it to you. You shook your head and she smiled ruefully as she tucked it away. “A bad habit I picked up in college, when I thought maybe it would help me make friends.”

You chuckled a little at that because, Asami Sato needed help making friends? “Did it?” you asked.

She shook her head. “Not the friends I needed, anyway.” She took another drag. “I quit,” she added with a humorless laugh. “So much for that.”

You didn’t say anything—it didn’t seem necessary. The silence settled over you both, but it was surprisingly comfortable. There was only the distant noise of the traffic below you and the sound of her cigarette burning whenever she brought it to her lips.

“I heard about the carbon fiber,” she finally said, and you grimaced involuntarily.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable. “It’s obvious now, it was never going to work with the new joints.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t catch it either.”

“It isn’t your job to,” you said bitterly.

She stopped mid-inhale. “Isn’t it?” she asked seriously, as if genuinely curious.

You didn’t have an answer to that. You let the question hand in the air between you as she gently rubbed the end of her half-smoked cigarette against the ledge, putting it out.

You felt inadequate. It was a familiar feeling, but in that moment it was only heightened. “I’ll— _We’ll_ fix it,” you told her firmly.

She turned back towards you and crossed her arms over her chest as if she were cold. But she couldn’t be, not in this heat that was making you sweat like a condensed glass. “I have no doubt. Something as small as this isn’t about to stop you, is it?”

You shook your head. “Definitely not.”

“Then it won’t stop me either,” she said with a genuine smile as she gracefully flipped some of her long, black hair over one shoulder. “I’ll expect three alternative materials on my desk by Friday.” She leaned away from the ledge and started to head back to the stairwell.

“Yes, Ms Sato.”

She turned back with an intensity in her gaze that made you shift your weight again. “Asami,” she corrected.

“Asami,” you agreed.

 

4.

Opal—sweet, generous, loyal Opal—was the one to provide the answer. You hadn’t expected it; she was there to consult on the medical aspects of your project, not _material_ , but nevertheless. She had sat on her desk, reading aloud about titanium implants and it hit you.

Titanium.

You got to your feet so fast you almost fell, and Opal put out a surprised hand to steady you. “Titanium,” you muttered, breathless.

Mako’s brow furrowed. “Molds? Didn’t you discount those back in school as too expensive?”

You shook your head frantically as you grabbed a pencil and some random piece of mail to scribble on. “Not molds, _dust_.”

“Dust?” Bolin asked, confused.

Mako blinked, the answer dawning on him. “Laser sintering.”

“The modeler gets it!” you practically crowed. “I’ll be back, I’m going to take this up right _now_.”

You couldn’t bother with the stairs this time, they were too slow and you were practically vibrating with excitement. You weren’t even sure you were capable of the stairs just then.

You could hear someone—a man—in her office, but you didn’t care. You should have cared, but you didn’t.

You shoved her door open with a shoulder, barely keeping yourself from collapsing into the room. “Asami!”

She looked up, startled, from her desk. A thin man in a dark blue suit stood on the other side of the desk, looking thoroughly bewildered and annoyed.

“Titanium,” you huffed as your eyes met hers. Hers, which were watery and red, and a warning flared in your mind.

She blinked, twice, and her searching, inquisitive gaze returned, unblemished. She rose and rounded the desk. “Titanium,” she repeated slowly as she tried to follow your train of thought. “Okay…?”

“Titanium is too expensive to realistically make customizable molds, and printing the carbon fiber so thinly is too weak. But if we laser sinter—”

“Oh,” Asami breathed, her entire face lighting up in understanding. “You had two halves of the puzzle.”

“Yes!” You shoved your crumpled, scribbled upon envelope into her hands. “We’ll 3D print the alloy; It would be lightweight enough, and cheap enough!”

“And strong enough, even with the different customizations?” she asked as her eyes scanned your frantic notes.

“I mean, we’ll have to run tests, and I’m not as good with the numbers as Jinora is but I… I think so.”

She met your eyes and held your gaze. Her eyes sparkled. “I think so too.”

The thin man cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the spell over you both. “Asami?”

Asami straightened, the light gone from her eyes in an instant. “Oh, I apologize. Korra, this is my… lawyer, Takeo. Takeo, this is Korra, the head of the new prosthetics project.”

Takeo gave your entire body a very deliberate look up and down and offered his hand, which you took hesitantly. “Asami always did have a soft spot for the… medical field…” he said carefully after he had released you.

You ignored the subtext. “This wouldn’t be possible without her,” you told him, and out of the corner of your eye you noticed Asami shyly look away.

He smiled sadly. “I’m sure that’s very true,” he said softly before turning back to Asami. “I’m sorry to be rude but… Asami, if we could return to the issue at hand…”

Asami’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. “Of course. Korra, send up your order list and I’ll approve it before I leave for the day.”

You nodded, a little unsurely, but you turned towards the door nonetheless.

“And Korra?” she called just as you crossed through the doorway. You turned back and saw her smile genuinely. “Great job,” she said sincerely.

You matched her smile with one of your own. “Thanks, Asami.”

 

5.

The next morning you took the bus into work. You would have walked, but last night’s feverish work had taken a lot out of you and you had gotten up later than you’d meant to. It was really because of that—and the bus driver’s radio—that you heard the news.

Hiroshi Sato, Asami Sato’s father, had died in prison yesterday.

There were other details, of course, but you didn’t hear any of the them. You brain was filled with static, and you dropped your head against the window so hard you were surprised it didn’t crack.

You were a fucking idiot.

There were whispers in the hallways as you made your way through the office, but to the credit of your team—your hard working, determined, _perfect_ team—no one said a word about it. When you walked over to your desk Jinora and Bolin were both busy pouring over the cost estimations, and Mako was hunched over at his computer, monitoring the laser sintering machine’s progress. They hardly acknowledged your presence at all.

“Where are we at?” you asked to no one in particular.

“Ten minutes.” Mako answered without looking up from his computer.

You sat your bag down by your desk and there, next to your crumpled, note covered envelope, was an order list for all the materials you would need to build several more prototypes— _dozens_ more, if you were reading the numbers right—signed and approved by one Asami Sato.

“Bolin,” you called as you held out the order list. “Get this filled.”

Bolin took it from you and looked it over. “Oh—she approved all this already? I didn’t—”

“Just get it done,” you said shortly, picking up a small piece of paper that was waiting for you right under the order list.

“Right, right, sorry,” Bolin said quickly as he awkwardly pulled his phone out of his back pocket.  
  


_Korra,_

_I won’t be in the office today, but I would really like to be there when the prototype is finished. Please call me on my personal line before you begin testing and making adjustments._

_-A_  
  


At the bottom of the slip of paper was a phone number, and you quickly typed it into your phone and dialed.

“Did you call Opal?” Jinora asked. “She’ll want to be here.”

You nodded as you listened to the phone ring. “Yeah, I called her last night. She’ll be in around ten for the stress test.”

The line clicked. _“Hello?”_

“Hey, Asami. It’s Korra.”

 _“Hey, Korra.”_ She sounded okay. Maybe. How did a person sound after their estranged father died in prison? Tired, maybe. _“Is the prototype finished?”_

“Almost. It’s cooling, if you wanted to be here when we crack it open and go through adjustments with Opal.”

_“Absolutely. I’ll need twenty minutes to get there.”_

“See you then.”

It only took her fifteen. She breezed into the room just as she always did. “Good morning,” she greeted brightly.

There was a pause, while everyone’s brains caught up with the scene and your teammates took a few seconds to _gape_ at Asami Sato, who was acting as if nothing were wrong in the world.

She resolutely ignored the attention, her eyes finding yours. “Are we good to go?”

Her eyes were clear and bright, but there was something behind them. A shadow and a plea that you heard, loud and clear.

“Just about,” you continued as if nothing awkward had happened. “Mako? You want to do the honors?”

Mako bit his lip. “Holy shit,” he muttered. “It’s actually happening.”

You smirked. “It _is_ , if you’d get it out of the machine…?”

He nodded and set a hand on the hatch of the machine. You leaned forward, eager to see the fruits of your labor.

“But,” Mako said as he released the hatch. The room deflated violently. “What if I messed it up? What if I didn’t get the dimensions right or—”

“Oh, _holy shit,_ ” Jinora hissed, startling you. You had never heard her swear before. “Just open it!”

Mako seemed to be just as startled as you were, and he shook his head as if to clear it. “Right,” he said as he set his jaw and slid open the hatch, exposing the model tray.

Mako reached in and pulled out the prototype. The work of months for your team, and years for you.

 _“It liiiiiiives!”_ Bolin bellowed joyously at the top of his lungs.

Mako held the prosthetic out to you. “Korra?”

You accepted it into your hands, turning it over and over and running your fingers over the ridged, metal mesh.

It was rough to the touch and there were pieces of loose metal where the printer had run over intersecting lines too many times. But it was here, and it was perfect.

“Looks about right,” you said glibly with a laugh.

Asami leaned in. “May I?” You handed it to her. “It’s still warm,” she observed with a smile. “How long did it take?” She hooked her fingers in between the metal webbing, bringing it close to her face and inspecting it with a critical eye.

Mako looked at the machine’s console. “Fourteen and a half hours.”

Asami pursed her lips. “Not bad.”

“It’s like printing a net,” Mako said with a smile. “There’s really very little actual material.”

“I think that was my favorite thing about your proposal, Korra,” Asami mused casually as she returned the prototype to you. “Aside from affordability, of course. It was the ability to make every person’s prosthetic unique to them.”

You grinned. You couldn’t help it. Asami probably didn’t realize, but that was your favorite thing too. It was why you refused to sacrifice customization to make carbon fiber work.

“Shall we put Wire 1.0 through its paces?” Opal asked from across the room. “Put it under some pressure?”

You walked over and handed it to her. “Let’s do it.”

 

6.

“To _Korra!_ ” Bolin shouted as he raised his glass high in the air.

You blushed—if you were capable of doing so, you were already pretty flushed—and shook your head. “To all of us. This wouldn’t have happened without you guys.”

“Team Wire!” Bolin yelled instead, and this time you joined the chorus.

“Team Wire!” You all downed your drinks and slammed your empty glasses back down onto the table.

The tests had gone well.

Really, _really_ well, actually, So well that Asami had insisted on taking everyone out for a celebratory drink after all of the stress tests on the prototype had been concluded.

“You’ve all worked incredibly hard,” she had said over your protests. “You deserve this. Take tonight and enjoy yourself a little, okay?”

“Only if you have a drink with us,” you said with a pout.

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded and smiled. “Of course.”

So there you were, on a Wednesday evening, three drinks deep and smiling sleepily in the corner booth of some club as you absentmindedly traced patterns on your leg. Mako leaned towards you, liquor on his breath and flattering words on his tongue, and you let him whisper in your ear while you surveyed the rest of the room.

Bolin and Opal sat next to you, conspiratorily speaking in hushed tones, while Asami and Jinora were opposite you, and Asami was laughing at something Jinora had said.

No one had mentioned her father. No one had dared, and Asami seemed more than content with that. She seemed to be having a good time, actually.

As if she had heard your thoughts, Asami’s eyes flicked to yours. You swallowed thickly as if caught, but Asami merely smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she turned back to Jinora.

“Do you want to dance?”

You blinked in surprise. No one had asked you to dance in years. You’d never been very good at it, really, even when you were young. “Uh… sure?”

Mako smiled in that charming way of his. “Cool.”

It wasn’t as if there were many people on the dance floor on a Wednesday evening, but you really preferred it that way. You didn’t recognize the song, but it had a heavy bass and with Mako’s light touch on your hip you found you could keep the rhythm well enough to enjoy yourself.

It was fun, actually. After two songs Bolin and Opal joined you, and you allowed yourself to get swept up in Bolin’s easy enthusiasm.

When you finally returned to the table, tired, sweaty and a little achy, Jinora was sitting in the booth alone. “Asami?” you asked as you took another long sip of your drink.

“She had to go,” Jinora told you over the sound of the music.

“Oh well,” you said as you took Jinora’s hand and dragged her out of the booth. “No sitting by yourself, come dance.”

Jinora laughed. “Okay, Korra.”

 

7.

You took the stairs two at a time, and it felt like you were flying.

It was a Tuesday night and you had waited, with a bouncing knee and a persistent itch in your leg, until almost ten so you could be reasonably certain you’d have the company gym to yourself.

Opal was going to be pissed.

It hadn’t even been two weeks, but was time for a test run. A _real_ test run, without clipboards or progress charts or inquisitive eyes.

You arrived at the seventh floor with a spring in your step and subconsciously adjusted the duffle bag on your shoulder. Then, you pushed open the door. It smelled like plastic and disinfectant and just a little like sweat and you took a deep breath and—

“Korra?”

Fuck.

“H-hey,” you greeted her awkwardly, not quite meeting her eye and twisting your duffle bag strap around your fingers.

Asami was on a treadmill, and she was flushed and sweaty and she slowed the treadmill’s speed as she asked, “Came for a workout?”

“Uh, yeah, but I can come back—”

“What are you talking about?” she asked as she pulled her towel off the treadmill next to her. “Don’t be silly. Do you want this treadmill?”

You hesitated. You hadn’t wanted an audience for this.

“Or did you want one of the bikes?” she continued, pointing to the row of stationary bikes along the wall.

No.

You hadn’t come for a bike. You’d had enough of bikes.

“No, the treadmill sounds good,” you said resolutely.

She patted the treadmill next to her playfully, and you threw your duffle down next to it.

You began walking, just getting comfortable and taking deep breaths. “Good day?” Asami asked next to you as she increased her speed.

You hummed the affirmative, a bit distracted with your own thoughts. After a beat too long, you asked, “You?”

She glanced over, an amused smile on her lips. “Yeah, thanks.”

You nodded distractedly and she didn’t press you further, which you were grateful for. She took a short pull from her water bottle and picked up speed again. You put in your earbuds and put your playlist on shuffle.

After a few minutes, you were ready. You took a deep breath.

You started off easy, a little trepidatious, but you got comfortable in your stride pretty quickly. You could see Asami throwing glances at you out of the corner of your eye, but you ignored her, increased the speed on the treadmill and ran faster.

Your lungs burned. Your legs ached. You felt a stitch in your side.

It felt incredible.

You used to run. _God_ , you used to run. You used to run like this, like nothing could touch you. Like no one could catch you.

You ran faster.

You hardly noticed when Asami stepped off her machine, moving past without a word. She walked to the opposite side of the room and settled herself on a rowing machine.

Your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to her. At this distance you felt safe in letting yourself watch her. She was obviously comfortable on the rowing machine, her arms and legs flexing hard each time she pulled. You licked your lips and tasted salt. She wiped her brow on her sleeve and pulled again.

You ran faster.

It pinched a little, but it wasn’t bad. It felt like you could keep going. You could go until your lungs failed you. You could go until your heart burst in your chest. You could go forever, just like you used to. It didn’t matter that it didn’t feel quite the same. It was close enough.

You ran faster.

Your shoes pounded against the treadmill, and the entire machine shook with your every step. You vaguely realized you were full on _sprinting_. You couldn’t even hear your music anymore, it was all just noise and pulse. You closed your eyes.

There was grass under your feet and sun on your skin, just like before. There were people cheering, just like before. You blindly reached out, grasping the console of the treadmill and finding the increase speed button, just like before.

_“Korra?”_

You ran faster.

It was hot and sunny, but the breeze was cool and it smelled like the ocean and then there was only your heartbeat filling your ears as something gave in your leg—your _fucking leg_ —and you buckled, just like before.

_“Korra!”_

Asami’s voice broke through the frantic pounding in your ears, and you felt her arms wrap around your waist a millisecond before you would have cracked your face against the treadmill console. She pulled you away as you collapsed, dragging you off the machine and falling with you to the floor.

 _“Fuck!”_ you gasped against the carpet as your head spun.

You pressed a fist against the ground and pushed yourself up, sitting against the still whirring treadmill as your hands automatically found your new ankle.

And your fingers found the shredded remains of the spring that held that new ankle together. “Fuck,” you breathed.

Asami untangled herself from around you and stood, leaning over you to turn off the treadmill before ducking back down and kneeling next to you. “Korra…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say.

You couldn’t quite bring yourself to look at her, so you kept your eyes trained on your ankle and wiped the tears from your face with the bottom of your shirt as your racing heart cooled.

“Here,” she finally said softly as she reached for your leg, “let’s get this off…”

 _“No,”_ you said harshly. “Leave it.”

Asami recoiled, but didn’t move otherwise. “Korra, you can’t walk on it, we have to get it off—”

“Leave it,” you growled. You weren’t proud of your petulence, but there it was.

You leaned back on your hands. Your chest hurt, and you could still feel every pound of your heart, but your lungs ached less as you deepened your breath. If Opal had been anywhere near you, you were convinced that she would absolutely kill you.

She still might, actually.

You snorted a laugh at the thought, and Asami looked up, looking mildly surprised and bewildered.

You snickered as you wiped at final, wayward tear. “I owe you a spring,” you joked.

A disbelieving chuckle bubbled out of Asami. “That’s okay, I think we got some very useful data about what it takes to absolutely _obliterate_ an ankle spring.”

You frowned. “Not much, apparently,” you said with false disdain as you picked a few metal pieces out of the prosthetic. “I mean, _look_ at this! Very unsatisfactory performance.”

Asami raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Yes, it only took moving at _gazelle_ speeds to fail. Completely unacceptable, Korra.”

You giggled, and Asami broke character and smiled in what was probably both amusement and relief. You busied yourself by picking more metal shards out of your ankle and collecting them in your hand. Asami watched you, but said nothing, and did not move to touch you again.

After a minute or so of unbroken silence, you finally sighed. “I played soccer.”

Asami quickly shook her head. “You don’t have to—”

You waved her off. “I know, it’s fine. It’s not a secret, or anything. It’s just a thing.”

You met her eye for the first time since she had pulled you off the treadmill and held her gaze. After a moment of searching your eyes, she nodded.

“The running…” you continued. “It was something I couldn’t get back. Racing blades are expensive. Too expensive. I couldn’t…”

You took another deep, wavering breath. “I wanted to make something affordable. And I… I don’t know, I guess I wanted to own it, you know?”

Asami cracked a small, sheepish smile. “Actually, not really. But I’m trying.”

You chuckled. You appreciated that, actually.

You gestured at your leg. “It’s not just this impersonal… _thing_. It’s my leg. I want it to be _mine_. I didn’t want to hide it, or be ashamed of it. It should work for me, not somehow make me less human, or less _me._ And I wanted everyone who needed a prosthetic to be able to customize it and make it _them_ , too.”

“That’s…”

You looked down and made a face. “Don’t say brave.”

“...beautiful.”

You raised your head and met Asami’s intense, studying gaze. A small smile played across her lips. “So I guess yours will just have to be customized with an industrial strength spring, huh?”

You grinned. “Hydraulics, maybe.”

She laughed. “You know, we make cars. I could probably hook you up with some stabilizer bars. Give your ankle _suspension_.”

“Oh my god,” you said with a snort. “Might as well attach some wheels too.”

“That can be arranged,” she said as she stood. “Now come on, let’s get you downstairs.” She offered you her hand and you accepted it, standing with a groan. You carefully tested your leg. Without the spring it settled heavily, and you had to grab Asami’s arm for support.

She gently took your arm and slung it over her shoulder, fitting her hand around your waist. You took a careful limp towards the door. “Jesus, you’re heavy,” Asami muttered.

“Well, one of my legs is made out of _titanium,_ ” you said defensively.

Asami carefully pushed the gym door open with a foot. “Are you sure it’s not because your arms are made out of bricks?”

“Why Asami,” you said teasingly, “have you been admiring my arms?”

“Don’t think I won’t drop you,” she answered seriously.

“That’s okay, I can catch myself using these _arms_ ,” you said as you dramatically flexed your bicep.

Suddenly, Asami’s shoulders slipped out from under you, and you were left wobbling unsteadily on one leg. “Shit! No! I’m sorry!”

Asami was back in an instant, steadying you. “That’s what I thought,” she said with a smirk.

 

8.

You’d meant to go home hours ago, honestly. You knew you went home too late, too often, and you had been trying to make efforts to change that.

But some nights it was hard to let go, especially when nothing was really waiting for you at home, and you were making so much headway. You and the others had already jumped over so many hurdles. The prosthetic was light enough, strong enough, comfortable enough and cheap enough. The only problem with the prosthetic now was the joints.

It wasn’t something you’d had to worry about, initially. You had lost your leg below your knee, and you’d only had to deal with the ankle joint, not with a knee or an elbow or a hand or—ugh— _fingers_.

It was a failing you had to correct, and you had been bashing your head against the problem ever since you had successfully printed the seventh iteration of the prototype.

Mako had seemed a little hurt when you had turned down Movie Night Monday with everyone. You would have to think of some way to make it up to him. You weren’t stupid, you knew he was interested in you. You were interested in him, in a way, but you weren’t sure you could give him what he wanted.

You knew you should have told him already, but part of you enjoyed the attention.

So he had left with the others at a normal time while you were still at your desk—in your office, no less—with ball bearings of different sizes scattered around you. But you were so _close_ , you couldn’t go home. Not yet.

You hadn’t seen Asami all day, which was strange. Ever since that night in the gym she had made it a habit to check in with you at least once a day, just a short visit or a call, but _something_. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t weird. She was important and busier than you could imagine, and you’re just her employee. You didn’t get to expect that kind of attention from her, even if you’d begun to look forward to it.

But you were kind of friends, right? She had practically carried you all the way from the gym to your office that night. You were embarrassed, but she had been kind and silly and it had mitigated your shame. Mostly.

It was a side you hadn’t expected from her, but it had felt like _friendship_ , not pity or obligation.

Before you could second guess yourself, you found her number in your phone and dialed.

It rang for so long you almost hung up, but she finally answered in a raspy voice, _“Korra?”_

“Hey, Asami.” Oh Christ, why had you called, again? “I—uh, how are you?”

There was a beat of silence, and you covered your face with a hand. Fuck, Korra, what were you even doing?

_“I… I’m okay, thanks. Just feeling a little under the weather.”_

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry! You were probably sleeping, I’ll let you go—”

_“No, no it’s fine. I… It’s nice to hear from the outside world, to be honest. What’s up?”_

You stood from your desk and started to pace around your office. “No, nothing, I just hadn’t heard from you today and I was…”—Worried, Korra, you were worried—“Just checking in.”

Asami coughed away from the phone before saying thickly, _“That’s sweet of you. Wait, are you still at the office?”_

“Oh, yeah. Just working on the knee joint. It’s such a piece of shit, _honestly_ ,” you joked. There was another awkward beat and you quickly added, “But it’s been good progress today! I think we can use the sockets with ball—Oh. But you don’t want to hear about this. It can wait until you feel better!”

 _“No, I_ do _want to hear about it! Really, I’ve been holed up all weekend and I’ve been working on it too a little. Do you, um… do you want to come over?”_

Asami Sato wanted you to come to her house? What universe was this?

_“Oh no, of course you don’t, I’ll get you sick—”_

“Sure.”

_“...Sure?”_

You chuckled. “Sure, Asami. I’ll bring the knee joint and we can talk about it.”

_“O-okay, great! I’ll text you the address.”_

“Sounds good, see ya.”

You had been confused, at first, when Asami only texted you, “Sato Pl”, but it made sense once you got there. There was only one house in sight, and it was so massive it ran the length of the entire road.

You were probably in the right place.

You knocked on the— _huge—_ doors, and waited with one hand worrying the knee joint in your jacket pocket, and the other clutching a brown paper bag.

You were about to knock again when the door swung open, and Asami greeted you with a tired smile. “Hey.”

You just needed a second. A second to process Asami, barefoot, with her hair in a high ponytail and a loose, thin, RCU hoodie.

She grimaced. “I know I’m a total mess, but I promise these clothes are clean.”

You wanted to tease her, or reassure her, or _something_ , but you couldn’t manage any of that. It was all you could do to pick up your feet and follow her inside without a word.

If you had known anything about architecture—you didn’t, you _super_ didn’t—you might have found something intelligent to say about the estate. It was ornate and elegant, if a little garish, but it was also, completely, glaringly _bare_.

What little furniture you passed was covered in white sheets, and there were boxes stacked on either side of the large staircase. “Can I get you anything to drink?” Asami asked as she lead you through the house.

“I’m good, thanks,” you managed. “I brought you some seaweed noodles though, if you want.” You held up the brown paper bag from Narook’s. Asami turned and looked at you with uncharacteristically wide eyes, and you felt like an idiot. “You definitely don’t have to eat them. I just—they’re what I eat when I’m sick and I thought—”

“Thank you,” Asami said softly as she took the bag from you. “I hope there’s enough for both of us, because I am _starving._ ”

You grinned. “Don’t worry, I got a double order. There are kale cookies, too.”

“Thank god,” Asami said as she lead you into the kitchen. It was beautiful, with a marble island and modern appliances. It wasn’t quite as empty as the rest of the house, but aside from a few dishes next to the sink, it was similarly sterile. “I’ve pretty much just subsisted off what was in my fridge, which wasn’t much, unfortunately.”

Asami set the bag on the island, but you shooed her away before she could open it. “No way, you’re sick. Sit down,” you instructed firmly, pointing at the opposite side of the island. She hung her head and made a face, but slid onto one of the barstools without protest.

“Oookay,” you muttered to yourself as you looked around. “I… don’t know where anything is. Bowls?” Asami gave you an amused smirk and pointed at one of the cabinets. “Great!” You grabbed two large bowls. “Er—chopsticks?” Asami pointed again, and you slid across the linoleum to the correct drawer.

You carefully served the noodles and broth and dressed each bowl with the small packet of garnishes it had come with. Asami smiled gratefully when you pushed the still steaming bowl in front of her. “There’s some hot sauce in the fridge, if you want.”

“Oh yeah, good idea.” You tugged open the refrigerator door. “Uhh, Asami?”

“Yeah?” Asami asked distractedly as she maneuvered a mass of noodles to her mouth.

You leaned away from the fridge. “...You have nothing but different kinds of hot sauce in here.”

“...So?”

“So, what the hell have you been eating the past few days?”

She set down her chopsticks. “Okay, well, _first_ of all, there is _not_ just hot sauce in there—”

You peered back inside. “One jar of marmalade and a carton of expired eggs doesn’t count.”

“They do when you have bread—wait, those eggs are expired?”

You looked back at her, hand still on the door and eyes wide. “Oh my god. How are you alive?”

Asami pouted into her bowl of noodles, and you were struck by how ridiculously adorable she was. Everything about this was ridiculous, when you stopped to think about it. “Don’t yell at me, I’m sick,” she mumbled.

Oh, come _on_. No one was allowed to be that cute.

“Okay, okay. Which one of these do you want? Sriracha? Gochujang? What’s this? Tabasco? Why is it green? How _old_ is this?”

“It’s jalapeño! Come on, now you’re just being mean.”

You laughed and kicked the door closed. “You’re right, sorry.” You threw the egg carton in the trash and offered her the gochujang as a peace offering. “This okay?”

Asami glared at you, but accepted it anyway, spooning the sticky paste into her bowl. You bit your lip to keep from smiling.

You let her eat in silence, content to watch her while you picked at your own noodles. It was clear she was trying to restrain herself from eating too quickly, but given the contents of her fridge, you couldn’t say you were surprised at her voraciousness.

You set aside your bowl as soon as she finally put down her chopsticks. “That was amazing,” she sighed. “Thank you.” She pulled a crumpled tissue from her hoodie and dabbed delicately at her nose.

“Here.” You dug back into the takeout bag and offered her the paper sleeve with the kale cookies.

She bit into one immediately with a loud crunch. “So,” she said between bites, “tell me about the joint.”

You took it out of your pocket and set it on the island between you. “I’ve been working with ball bearings.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? So have I!”

“Oh yeah? Any luck?”

She shrugged and helped herself to another cookie. “Some. I have articulation I’m happy with, but not the resistance. And that says nothing about the eventual neural interfaces—”

You put out your hands between you. “Oh my god, I don’t even want to think about that yet. Rewind, go back to the the articulation. Can I see?”

“Yeah, totally.” She dusted the crumbs off her hands. “As long as you eat one of these, because otherwise I’m going to eat all of them and I’ll never forgive myself.”

You took a cookie from the packet. “Lead the way,” you said with a grin as you bit into the cookie.

The trip to Asami’s bedroom was largely the same. She led you up the stairs and down a long hall, passing closed doors and unworn spots on the carpet where furniture had been. Towards the end of the hallway, however, was an open door, and a small amount of light from within illuminated the hallway.

Compared to the rest of the house, Asami’s room was an explosion of character. It was as if Asami had restricted herself to living in just her bedroom and the kitchen, and the rest of the house was simply in between.

There was a large, four-poster bed with rumpled sheets pulled back. On top was a small shoebox, full of papers and pictures. Next to the bed was a trash can with tissues littered all around it, and a few discarded clothes.

Along one wall was a wooden table that had been built into the wall. It was covered in metal scraps and notebooks. Under the table were piles of books and several toolboxes of different sizes.

“This is embarrassing,” Asami muttered as she rushed to the bed and scooped up the small box. “I forgot I was living in what is essentially a plague house.”

“And me, without my beaked mask,” you deadpanned as you walked further into the room and pretended not to notice when Asami threw the box under her nightstand. “So talk to me about this resistance problem.”

Out of the corner of your eye you watched Asami kick her clothes under the bed, and you suppressed a laugh. “I really don’t care, you know?”

“I care!” she said defensively as she started to collect tissues off the workbench in front of you. “And when you get sick later you’re going to care too.”

You shrugged as you fiddled with a pencil left on the bench. “Maybe.”

She was right, of course, but a few days later—at your desk, toying with a newly printed elbow joint and coughing into your sleeve—you figured it was worth it.

 

9.

You were nervous. Of course you were, you hadn’t seen Katara—patient, wise, motherly Katara—in over a year and it felt like you had a lot to prove. She would tell you that you didn’t, that you never had to prove anything to her, but she was important and what she thought really mattered to you.

“Hey, you okay?” Mako asked as he swiveled around in his desk chair

You looked up, and your eyes took a second to focus on him. You hadn’t noticed you had just been staring at your hands for ten minutes, fidgeting.

“Y-yeah, yeah I’m good. Just… big day, you know?”

Mako smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’m so _excited_ ,” Bolin said from atop his desk as he swung his legs back and forth.

Your phone vibrated, and you swiped its screen to look at the message.

 **Asami (10:52am):** They’ve arrived, see you soon.

You bolted up out of your seat. “They’re here. Do we have everything ready?”

“Yes,” Opal answered gently. “Stop worrying so much. She’s going to love it.”

“They all are,” Jinora added.

You nodded and laced your fingers together to keep them from shaking while you waited.

You didn’t have to wait long. Soon Asami appeared at the doorway, with a half dozen kids of all different ages in tow. “This is it,” she announced to them.

They poured into the room, inspecting the machines with quiet wonder—or in the case of the pre-teens, detached interest—but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about them as soon as Katara appeared behind them. Her eyes lit up at the sight of you, and your nerves disappeared.

You didn’t even let her get entirely through the doorway. “Katara,” you said breathlessly as you threw yourself into her arms. She was just as strong as ever, taking your weight with grace and softness and _warmth_. She smelled like clean fur and open fires and fresh snow and it was so overwhelmingly comforting and transportive you almost burst into tears.

“Korra,” she murmured into your shoulder. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too,” you muttered, blinking back the tears as you pulled away.

Katara took a step back. “Let me look at you.” She looked you up and down, but her gaze lingered on your leg. “That’s sharp,” she observed with a raised eyebrow.

You shuffled the leg self consciously. “I like to think so.” You placed a hand on her back and ushered her further into the room. “I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for coming.”

“I may be an old woman, but I’m not going to pass up an all expenses paid vacation,” she chuckled before lowering her voice. “This is all they’ve been able to talk about for weeks.”

You grinned. “Honestly? We haven’t been able to talk about anything else either.”

You hadn’t been sure about how your team would interact with Katara’s kids, but as you turned your attention to the room, it was obvious you needn't have worried.

Bolin had already hefted one small girl onto his shoulders, her hands clasped around his forehead, and they were both peering down into the 3D printer from above. Opal was entertaining the boys by showing them some of her medical equipment. An older girl was drilling heart-eyes into Mako’s skull while he obliviously gestured at his computer screen and explained the scanning. Jinora, bless her, was desperately trying to fill out the forms for each kid while they bounced around the room.

Asami was in the middle of the room, crouched next to a timid young girl. Her eyes roamed the room while Asami spoke to her softly. “This is Auka,” Katara said as you both approached them.

Auka looked up at you, but her eyes immediately snapped to your leg. “Hi,” you greeted as you crouched down next to Asami. “I’m Korra.”

She didn’t answer, but her eyes followed your movement. Asami cracked a small smile and stood, busying herself by speaking to Katara and giving you a moment with Auka.

“It’s nice to meet you, Auka.”

Auka looked back at Katara and Asami briefly before fixating on your prosthetic again. “I like your leg,” she said quietly.

You smiled. “Thank you. Would you like yours to look like this?”

She met your eyes. “Can it?”

“Absolutely,” you said as you stood and motioned to Mako. “We’ll tell Mako and he can make it look however you want.”

Auka tugged on your shorts and looked shyly up at you. “Can… can it be purple?”

“Yes! It can even be rainbow colored, if that’s what you want.”

A slightly older boy approached. “I want my arm to be silver,” he announced loudly. “Just like Cyborg.”

“Oh! You mean like from _Teen Titans_?” Bolin bounced up and down excitedly, the girl still on his shoulders clinging on for dear life. “I love that show!”

“No,” the boy said haughtingly, “Cyborg from the _Justice League_.”

“Yeah Bolin, _geeze_. No one watches _Teen Titans_ anymore,” Opal teased.

“Hey!” the young girl on Bolin’s shoulders shouted. “Leave him alone! _Teen Titans_ is awesome!”

Bolin smiled up at her. “Thanks, Ila.”

“Katara, can I go first?” a young boy asked.

“I think that’s up to them, Nasak.”

Katara looked at you expectantly, and you shrugged. “Sure. Mako, why don’t you start designing Auka’s leg with her while Jinora and Bolin do Nasak’s 3D scan?”

Asami stepped forward. “I’ll take everyone else for a tour while we wait. Do you guys want to see some cars race?”

There was a chorus of shouts that sounded like maybe they wanted to see some cars race.

Everyone began to disperse, and you stood with Katara at your desk, watching the controlled chaos. “Thank you for this,” she said.

You shook your head. “Thank Asami. There are rehab centers in the city that would have done this for us.”

“Oh, I did. Repeatedly. But she just said to thank you; that you insisted it be my kids.”

You rolled your eyes. “She’s just being modest. She didn’t have to bring you all here.”

“Even still,” Katara said as she took your hand and forced you to look into her eyes. “Thank you.”

You swallowed thickly. “It’s the least I could do.”

Katara laughed and bumped your elbow playfully. “And _Asami_ is being modest?”

You turned away, and Katara let you. After a moment she asked, “Do you remember when you asked me what you would find, if you got through everything?”

You leaned against your desk and watched your team. Nasak had his arm on the table, while the arm of the 3D scanner swung around him. Auka was in Mako’s lap, excitedly tapping his computer screen as if she could reach in and mold her leg exactly the way she wanted it. Asami was corralling all of the other kids while they excitedly chattered about what _their_ prosthetics would look like.

You let out a small breath and smiled. “I remember.”

 

10.

It was one of those rare times you were actually in your office, and you couldn’t stop grinning.

Spread out in front of you were letters, each written by one of Katara’s rehab kids thanking you and Future Industries for their new prosthetics. One note, on top of all the others, was from Katara. She was proud of you.

You would have to call her later and tell her the good news.

The call had come in the night before. You had been at home, in the middle of making a grilled cheese—with bacon and three different types of cheese, you were no amateur—when Asami called you.

_“The FDA approved it.”_

“What?”

 _“The-F-D-A-a-pproved-it,”_ she repeated, punctuating each syllable.

You sat down hard in a kitchen chair. “Holy shit.”

_“Congratulations, Korra.”_

“Holy _shit_ ,” you breathed.

_“I’m going to talk to the board in the morning. We’ll announce as soon as possible.”_

You let out a long breath and held your forehead with your hand. “Okay. Okay. Holy shit.”

Asami giggled. _“Call your team, Korra.”_

“Yes. Call team. On it.”

_“I’ll see you in the morning.”_

You nodded slowly until you remembered that she couldn’t see you. “O-okay.”

_“Goodnight.”_

“Good...Wait! Asami?”

_“Yeah?”_

“Thank you.”

_“You are most welcome. Goodnight.”_

You called each of your team members while your sandwich smoked on the stove.

Bolin had whooped for joy straight into the phone, and you had held the phone away from your ear while he screamed at Mako incoherently.

Jinora had cried when you told her, but later would insist she hadn’t.

Opal just simply laughed. _“Of course it was. See ya tomorrow.”_

And then there had been the letters on your desk and Katara’s note and you were absolutely _not going to cry—_

“Korra!”

You rubbed at your eye as Asami walked into the room. “Here you are! I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“And you just now thought to look in my office?”

Asami glared at you from the other side of your desk. “We both know you’re almost never in here.”

She was right, but you grinned anyway. “ _Almost_ never.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to hear what happened with the board, or not?”

You cleared your throat and straightened in your chair. “Yes, yes I do. Sorry, please continue.”

She slid a paper across your desk. “Two weeks.”

You picked up the piece of paper. It was a press release, detailing an announcement party and press conference for Project Wire, Future Industries’ first medical product. The party was the following Friday.

You stood, buzzing. “Asami, this is incredi—”

“Excuse me, Korra?” a young man called from the door. He was holding a massive bouquet of flowers in a glass vase. “I have a delivery.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion and you rounded your desk. “For me?”

The man walked in, holding the flowers far out in front of him and trying not to crush them. “If you’re Korra, then yes.” He set them down on your desk. “If you could just sign this?” He held out a receipt, and you signed it. “Have a good day, ladies.”

He left, and you turned to the flowers. They were red and white roses, beautifully arranged.

Asami tilted her head. “Who are they from?”

You carefully picked around the flowers until you found the card, and read it aloud.  
  


_Korra,_

_Congratulations. No one deserves this more than you._

_Love,_  
_Mako_  
  


Asami snorted. _“Roses?”_ she asked contemptuously. “Who sends roses to congratulate someone?”

You frowned. “What’s wrong with roses?”

Asami chuckled humorlessly. “They’re red and white! What is this, a wedding? You don’t send something that means love and purity if you mean congratulations, you send yellow!” She gestured wildly at the flowers and you resisted the urge to move them out of the way.

“Purple would have been fine too,” she continued. “Or even blue! At least that’s your color.”

You looked down at yourself. “I have a color?”

Asami rambled on, “I’ve never seen the point of sending flowers, anyway. You cut a bunch of beautiful flowers just to watch them slowly die? What an awful sentiment.”

“Uhh—”

Asami shook her head in what appeared to be disbelief. “No one could mistake these flowers for _‘congratulations’,_ these are roman...tic…” She trailed off as she met your eyes. You probably looked like the picture of pure confusion, eyebrows up in your hairline and lips slightly parted. “Oh,” Asami breathed.

Your eyes trailed to the side, glancing at the flowers before snapping back to Asami. “Um—” you began.

Asami blushed, _hard_. “I’m—don’t listen to me, I’m an idiot,” she muttered as she backed slowly out of the room. “Yeah—uh, sorry. Enjoy those, they’re beautiful. Really.”

She whipped out of the doorway and out of sight in a flash, and you were left standing there, rooted to the spot and wondering what the hell had just happened.

 

11.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since Asami had fled your office and began—with _extreme_ effectiveness—avoiding you. Actually, it had only been ten days, but who was counting?

Not you.

You had no time for counting. You were busy preparing for the biggest moment of your life, the thing you had been working towards since you first thought to take the very thing that disabled you and make it yours. There were Wires to print, and joints to fit, and worrying to do.

But now the moment was here, and there were no more preparations to make. You could only wait and fist your hands and think about why this moment, which should have tasted sweet, only made you squint your eyes and grimace against the sour.

It wasn’t as if Asami had disappeared. She was just as involved as she had been, making sure that everything was perfect for the press conference. In the company of others, she spoke to you much the same way she had been, but there was something between you now. It wasn’t quite as familiar. It wasn’t quite as comfortable. It wasn’t quite as easy.

It had happened slowly, over the course of your entire year at Future Industries, but now you realized that Asami had created a place for herself in your life. Now that place was just space, and you could only wonder if it always had been.

Her friendship had been replaced with tightness around her eyes, and cigarettes on her breath, and you _missed_ her.

You missed Asami Sato, of all people.

But perhaps you were being unreasonable. It wasn’t as if Asami Sato was yours. She hadn’t gotten any less busy, or any less important over the course of this past year. She had been generous to you with her time and her smiles and you had taken that for granted. She owed you nothing, especially with all you’d received.

Future Industries had given you a job and changed your life. Asami had given you her time and changed _you_.

But you hadn’t changed Asami Sato, and it was ridiculous to think you had.

Someone with a headset and a clipboard instructed you to one side of the stage, and you smoothed out your dress, feeling it swish against your knees. “Ten seconds,” the stagehand whispered into your ear.

Then she was there, on the other side of the stage, and suddenly your sleeveless dress felt both at once too restrictive and too exposed.

She hadn’t really changed from the first time you had met her, other than the formal wear that accentuated her every curve. Your perception of aloof, mysterious Asami had certainly changed, though. To you now she was just Asami—beautiful, brilliant, brave Asami—and you weren’t sure you could go back to the way things were, when she was simply your boss, and you weren’t in love with her.

Oh, _fuck_. You were in love with her.

Fuck.

Then there was clapping and the stagehand was shoving you out onto the stage and there were lights and flashing and noise.

Somehow you managed to sit, and you heard yourself introduced. You nodded towards the crowd and hoped you were smiling—though you were probably grimacing.

Then Asami was speaking, with authority and confidence, just like she used to before you knew she smoked sometimes and ate expired eggs and lived in the spaces between the relics of her deceased family. She sounded just like she had when you had been on the other side of the camera, or the radio, and you could only imagine what Asami Sato listened to when she exercised.

Britney Spears, it turned out.

There were pictures flashing behind you, and you turned to look. They were of Katara’s kids, each with their own Wires and looking happy back home. There were 3D models that Mako had probably put together, and graphs you didn’t understand, and didn’t care to.

After a few more minutes of business jargon, the floor was opened up to questions, and dozens of hands shot into the air.

“What motivated Future Industries to move into the medical field?”

“This was something my father and I had always wanted to do, but we needed to find the right project and the right team to make it happen,” Asami answered smoothly.

“Why did you choose prosthetics?”

Asami smiled and without hesitation said, “Korra, actually. This project has been entirely her vision. I fell in love with her idea of affordable, customizable prosthetics, and the other board members agreed with me.” You turned to look at her in shock; you had no idea that it had been her who had put forth Wire to the Future Industries board. “We’re incredibly lucky that she and the rest of her team trusted us with their incredibly important work.”

Asami didn’t even look at you. She didn’t even pause before accepting another question, leaving you to gape at the side of her head with flushed cheeks. Your fingers twitched in your lap.

You were asked a few questions, mostly regarding the logistics of designing Wire, but it was over relatively quickly and you were pretty sure you didn’t make a fool out of yourself. Thank god.

You were being shuffled off to one side of the stage, and you glanced back at the other side, catching Asami’s dress fluttering out of sight. That was fine, you would corner her during the party and thank her for her kind words, and everything she had done for you and for Wire.

As much as the credit of creating Wire belonged to you and your team, there was no doubting who had made it happen. There was no doubting that none of this would have happened without Asami Sato’s faith and support. Or her own work, which was imbedded in every Wire you printed, and in every joint you fit into its socket.

The party had started and—much to your startlement and dismay—people wanted to talk to you. You did your best, but networking had never been your strongest suit, and most people really just wanted a closer look at your leg, which was off putting and strange.

You supposed it wouldn’t be forever though, and you had worn a shorter length dress for exactly this reason. Not to hide or appear like everyone else, but to flaunt what made you different. You had taken it back, it was yours, and you hoped Wire would give other people the same thing. Ownership.

When not being accosted by various press and industry people, you couldn’t help but find Asami. Asami, in the middle of a large group of people, laughing. Asami, talking intensely with someone at the bar. Asami, gracelessly—and a little desperately—stuffing an hors d'oeuvre into her mouth between conversations.

Your team was lingering by the refreshment table, far outside of the all the interactions. Jinora was holding her shoes in one hand while Mako leaned against the wall nursing a mostly full glass of champagne. Bolin was struggling to eat while carrying two plates full of food as Opal attempted to straighten his tie.

“It is way, _way_ too early for you guys to be in this kind of state.”

Opal sighed. “You have no idea how true that is.”

Bolin whined helplessly. “Can you hold this for a minute?”

Jinora rolled her eyes and accepted one of Bolin’s plates. “You know it’s free, right? You can just go get more.”

“Yeah, but I really like these little crab thingys and they might all be gone by the time I’m done with these oysters.”

“Those are mussels,” Mako corrected.

“Why thank you, Mako,” Bolin said with a wink as he flexed playfully.

Mako covered his face with a hand. _“Ugh.”_

You stifled a laugh. “How much has he had to drink?”

“I don’t know,” Opal answered, looking at her watch. “We decided to hang back and drink during the press conference while no one was around yet. So probably… three or four?”

“Five,” Bolin hiccuped as he took his other plate from Jinora and got to work on the crab thingys. “I drank another one on the way to the bathroom.”

“We’re gonna get kicked out,” Mako groaned.

“No, you’re definitely not,” you said with a chuckle. “But maybe keep him away from the press?”

“Oh, by the way, Korra.” Mako leaned off the wall and lowered his voice. “It should be done cooling by about eight, I think.”

You nodded and gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Mako.” It was still awkward since you had told Mako that you couldn’t give him what he wanted, but you were both trying, and it was getting better. And he had agreed to help you, so that was a good sign.

“Hey guys,” Asami’s voice found you, and it was like lightning, the way it traveled through your entire body. You were hopeless, really. “Having a good time?”

“The best!” Bolin exclaimed, sending bits of crab flying from his mouth.

“Gross, bro,” Mako muttered.

Jinora’s eyes flicked between you and Asami for the briefest of moments before she smiled politely. “It’s lovely, Asami, thank you.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t include you all during the press conference. I wanted to but the board—”

“Believe me, we wouldn’t have it any other way,” Opal said with a dismissive wave. “Korra is the best of us, anyway.”

Asami looked at you, but a little left of center, not straight into your eyes. “Speaking of which, Korra, can I borrow you for a few minutes? I wanted you to meet someone.”

“Uh, sure?”

“Great. Bolin, catering is decorating the cupcakes now, if you want to go in and get some before they come out.”

Bolin dropped his second plate onto the refreshment table with a clatter. “Do I!”

Asami put a light touch against the small of your back and steered you back into the crowd.

You wove around the bodies, separating and rejoining naturally as needed. You weren’t sure it was appropriate, but you hadn’t spoken to her alone at all since that weird flower thing had happened, and you weren’t sure you would get another chance to thank her.

“Asami.”

“Mm?” she hummed without looking at you.

Someone in the crowd called out to her. “Asami!”

She turned and raised her hand in greeting, but didn’t stop walking with you. “Daichi, hello! Give me just one moment, I’ll be right back!”

“Asami,” you repeated, determined.

“Yeah?” She looked at you. Finally, she actually _looked_ at you.

“I… I just wanted to thank you.”

She tilted her head, inspecting you the way she had when you had first met. “For what?”

“For… for everything, really. I can’t—”

“Oh Korra, you don’t have to thank me for anything, really. But we can talk later, okay? Varrick wants to meet you. He wants to talk about production of Wire overseas. Working with him might be cheaper and faster than shipping them from here.”

You blinked at her pragmatism and dismissiveness. What was this? _Who_ was this? Were you being fucking _managed?_ Like some business venture?

“...Right,” you said coldly.

Asami glanced back at you, but at that moment a man in the most garish looking suit you could have imagined appeared in front of you. “Well if it isn’t the woman of the hour!”

You looked at Asami, but the man grabbed your hand and shook it wildly. “Not her, silly! _You!_ ”

“Er—”

Asami pursed her lips. “I’ll leave you two to it. Excuse me, Varrick.” With that, she disappeared into the crowd.

“Listen,” Varrick continued as if Asami hadn’t been there at all, “I think you and I, we can do big things—and when I say big, I mean _big!_ Zhu-Li, give her my card!”

The woman at his side flew into action, producing a card and shoving it into your hands. “Name’s Varrick!” the man said loudly before leaning too close to your face and lowering his voice. “But let me tell you; I just told Asami about that worldwide production stuff so I could talk to you. I would rather talk about what other ventures you might have in mind for the future,” he said conspiratorially.

Your brow furrowed. “Um, I haven’t actually thought about it. At all.”

Varrick nodded knowingly. “Yes yes, enjoy this moment while you can, that sort of thing. I _completely_ understand. But when you’re ready to talk about your future, give me a call.” He tapped his card in your hand. “There is definitely a place for you at Varrick Global.” He leaned away and loudly proclaimed, “Nice to meet you, Korra! Don’t be a stranger now, I hope to hear from you soon!”

And with that he left you, dumbfounded and confused, standing in the middle of the party—which you had had enough of, frankly. You had had enough of the party, the press conference, of being a commodity to be traded, of everything. You needed to get away, and it was just as well, because according to your watch it was after eight.

So you slipped away and took the stairs down to your team's office.

The rest of the building was empty and quiet, and it was relief after the noise of the party. You couldn’t stay though, not without risking being seen. The 3D printer was still whirring, but its console flashed, alerting you that it had finished.

You took the stairs again, all the way to Asami’s office.

It was unlocked, thank goodness, and you crept inside. The lights were off, but you could still make out the clean lines of her furniture, and the mess of papers on her desk. It reminded you of her home, and the way Asami carved her presence amongst all of the Sato.

But this office, it was Asami Sato, and you were just Korra, and you didn’t deserve any part of her, let alone what she had already given you. You didn’t have a place in her life the way she had a place in yours and you didn’t belong here. Not in her life, in her office, nor perhaps, Future Industries.

If you were going to miss Asami, perhaps it was better to do it somewhere where you didn’t have to watch her become a mystery to you again.

You left the red, 3D printed rose on her desk, and gently shut the door behind you.

 

12.

The walk home was breezy and cool. It felt good.

Admittedly, you were hurt. You knew you couldn’t call Varrick and just accept whatever it was that he was offering, even if it did get you away from Asami and whatever confusing things she made you feel. Besides, you had a team. They were your friends, and you owed them so much more than just a ‘goodbye’.

You probably owed Asami more than that too, but you didn’t want to think about that.

You’d had a wonderful year. Wire was no longer just weird, ill-defined sketches in the margins of your textbooks. One of the largest, most powerful companies in the world had seen the potential of Wire—of you—and thrown its weight behind it.

You had assembled a team of great, talented people you hoped would be in your life forever.

You’d gotten to collaborate with the most intelligent, clever woman you’d ever met.

You’d been able to fly Katara, one of the most important people in your life, and all of her rehabilitation patients to the city, and outfit them each with their own Wires.

You’d been there for the announcement of Wire, and public response was hugely positive.

Now what?

There would always be work to be done on Wire, but it felt as if a huge chapter of your life was ending, and you had nothing but blank pages in front of you. Wire would always be a part of you—literally—but it no longer weighed on your shoulders.

By the time you got home, you thought maybe you were capable of letting go.

Which was a problem, considering that Asami was sitting on the stoop in front of your apartment and leaning on the railing, curled in on herself.

“Asami?”

She stood a little unsteadily. She was wearing an open coat that was clearly not hers—it was too wide at the shoulders and long at the cuffs—and she seemed withdrawn, as if she were hiding in her own skin.

“Don’t go,” she said brokenly.

You stopped several feet short of her in surprise. “What?”

“Don’t go,” she repeated. “With Varrick. Stay. Please.” She had her arms folded over her stomach, and she wouldn’t quite meet your gaze.

“Ah. You heard about that, huh?”

She gestured vaguely into the air. “He had said something strange and Zhu-Li didn’t exactly _tell_ me but—” She cut herself off and fidgeted with the zipper of her coat. God, she was beautiful.

Your fingers itched to touch her, but you fisted them in your pockets instead and ground your teeth. “Wire is finished. We did it. I trust you and the team to take it in whatever direction you see fit. I… I think it’s time for me to move on.”

She looked so impossibly sad that it made your mouth dry. It wasn’t anything like the coldness you’d experienced the past two weeks. She was so fragile and genuine and it felt like the Asami you’d thought you had come to know.

But you hadn’t, you told yourself.

You swallowed. “Why… why would I stay?” Your voice cracked just a little at the end of your words and you hoped she didn’t notice.

She didn’t answer, just watching you for a moment in that intense, searching way of hers, just like she had almost a year ago when you’d first met and you were just as dazzled by her as everyone else was.

Finally she reached into the pocket of her huge coat and gently extracted your printed rose. “What is this?”

You shrugged. “You said you didn’t like to watch them die.”

She didn’t take her eyes off the rose, slowly rolling its plastic stem between her fingers and watching it spin. “It’s red,” she observed softly.

You smiled ruefully. “It’s your color.”

She took a step closer, still not looking at you. “Is it?” she asked lightly.

You let out a small, frustrated breath. “Look, Asami, it’s not that I don’t appreciate everything Future Industries—everything _you’ve_ done for me—”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

You swallowed your tongue. Like, literally, there it went, sliding down your throat and settling somewhere in your stomach.

Or it felt that way, at least.

Asami chuckled humorlessly, with a disbelieving smile and a little shake of her head. “No, I’m _sure_ I’m in love with you. I’ve been sure since you sat on the floor of my bedroom until that knee joint worked. When you went out at four in the morning and bought me groceries and then came back and made me pancakes—I knew then. I knew I could spend the rest of my life waiting for you to come back from the grocery store, as long as you came back.”

You fucking idiot, what were you doing just standing there, when you could have been kissing Asami Sato?

She lifted her eyes away from the rose. “If you want to leave, Korra, of course I won’t stop you. But I’ll probably be spending the rest of my life waiting for you to come back.”

It wasn’t as if the city was quiet. Even late at night, the city never got as quiet as it did back home. But at that moment, you might as well have lived in a vacuum. There was a complete absence of noise, except for the beating of your heart and the rise and fall of Asami’s chest with every breath.

“It took me a little more time than that,” you said quietly as you took a miniscule step forward. There was a flicker of something in Asami’s eyes as she watched you. “I didn’t know until you left my office after berating Mako’s roses.”

She grimaced. “I’m sorry about that, that was so stupid. I didn’t mean to react—”

“Asami,” you interrupted as you took another step closer. “Will you please shut the fuck up and kiss me?”

She did. Fuck, did she ever kiss you. She slid one hand behind your head and tangled her fingers in your hair and held you firmly as her lips crashed into yours. You let out a short, surprised squeak at her force before you pressed back just as firmly, sliding your hands under her coat and finding her waist, and bringing your bodies flush together. The gold bangles on her arm chimed in your ear. She tasted like champagne and lipstick and just a little like smoke and you drank it in, intoxicated.

Her tongue rolled over yours as her free hand found the low back of your dress, gripping at the muscles between your shoulder blades. When your fingers brushed the swell of her ass she sucked in a harsh breath against your mouth and her nails dug into your back and you groaned louder than you’d meant to.

You weren’t even aware you were moving at all until you absolutely _slammed_ Asami into the door of your apartment. She detached from your lips and you would have apologized except that she moaned so loudly that you forgot, instead finding her pulse and kissing her gently in apology for your roughness. She sighed in pleasure, and you felt your heart rate spike.

With her back against the door, Asami found purchase, arching against you as you dragged your teeth over her skin. You rolled forward, pinning her hips against the door with your own and—

“Korra,” she sighed.

You bit her neck a little harder, and she sucked in another hard breath. “Korra,” she repeated, more forcefully.

You pulled away immediately, but kept your hands planted on door on either side of her. Her eyes were dark and lidded and you never seen anyone so fucking sexy in your entire goddamn life—

Her eyes drifted to the side and back before finding you again. “The door,” she whispered meaningfully.

“The… door,” you repeated slowly, not quite grasping her words. “The… the door!”

Unlock the door, unlock the door, _unlock the door!_

She giggled as your hands shot to your hips and you began to hike up your dress.

You were wearing a pair of tight fitting shorts under your dress, where you kept your wallet and keys during the party. You hated carrying a purse and it wasn’t as if anyone sells dresses with pockets—

You dug your keys out of your shorts and looked back up. Asami was gaping at you, her chest heaving and her eyes firmly locked on your newly uncovered skin. She swallowed visibly. You grinned in satisfaction and let your dress fall to your knees again. Asami blinked, as if waking from a dream.

The distance helped clear your head a little, and you fisted your keys in your palm. “Asami…” You bit your lip nervously. “We don’t… are you…”

She leaned off the door, taking a deep breath and straightening her spine. Then, Asami Sato looked down her nose at you and said, with authority lacing every syllable, “Korra. Open the door.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You jammed your key into the lock and let the door fall open with a loud ‘bang’.

Asami strode in after you, shedding her coat and tossing it over the cheap couch you had gotten at Ikea. “I need that dress _off_ ,” she commanded, reaching you and trailing her fingers over the hem of your dress.

“Yes,” you breathed. Your skin was on fire, and you felt every thread of fabric against your skin as Asami pulled the dress over your head. She let it drop to the floor at your feet and stopped, staring at your body. She licked her lips, her air of command flickering. “Sit—sit down,” she said, a little less confidently.

You smirked, but obeyed anyway. She followed after you, rucking up her dress over her knees so she could straddle you as you sat back on the couch. She finally kissed you again, and it was was like drinking water on a hot day. You wrapped your arms around her back, pulling her against you as you crained your neck to reach her.

Her hands ran down your shoulders and across your back until her fingers found the clasp of your bra, unclipping it with one hand and pulling away just enough to slip it off your shoulders and blindly throw it somewhere in your apartment. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, almost reverently, as she leaned back in, nipping at your collarbone.

You let your head fall back against your couch. “Holy fuck, Asami. _Please_ ,” you whined as you slipped your hands under her dress and gripped at her thighs. Your fingers mapped the flexing muscles and brushed over her panties.

She lifted up, just slightly, and allowed you to drag her dress over her ass and up, as far as you could reach. She tugged it the rest of the way off while you ran a hand up her stomach, tracing every ridge until you met her bra at the valley between her breasts. She leaned back in invitation, watching you explore her bare skin with hooded eyes.

You pushed up her bra, too desperate to bother to take it off, making her breasts spill out from under it. You immediately took a nipple into your mouth, rolling your tongue and scraping your teeth against its sensitive tip. Asami gave a short cry, fisting her fingers in your hair. You bit down lightly and heard her whimper, _“Korra.”_ The sound of your name on her lips, breathy and dripping with want, made you roll your hips against her in search of any relief—any relief at all.

You palmed her ass, pulling her further forward against you, and she followed your silent instruction without hesitation. She ground against your stomach and you could feel how wet she was. Wet for you.

You wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her as your other hand trailed up until it had reached the apex of her thighs. She sat up on her knees, giving you access and permission. You released her breast with a slick ‘pop’, and swiped a firm thumb against her.

Even though it wasn’t direct contact, Asami shuddered and pitched forward until she had sloppily claimed your lips again. Her breath hitched when you did it again, slower. “Korra, _please_ ,” she hoarsely pleaded, “I want...”

“Tell me, Asami. Tell me what you want,” you practically growled into her mouth as you teased her.

Her breath caught and she bit her lip. “Inside, I want you _inside_ ,” she sobbed, and how could you possibly do anything else but breathe her in and do what she asked? There was no way you were ever going to allow Asami off your lap for even one second though, so you impatiently yanked her _soaked_ panties aside and dipped your fingers into silken warmth.

She cried out, and you tightened your hold on her waist and dipped down, entering her with one finger, and then another. She arched, her head snapping back, and you moved with her, breathing against her stomach as she clawed at your back. The contrast between the softness at your fingertips and the sting of her nails on your back threatened to undo you, but you swallowed down the fire in your stomach and forced yourself to focus. You huffed against her chest, “you feel amazing,” mostly to yourself, but you hoped she heard you.

You leaned back to watch her and were enraptured by the sight of her flushed skin and parted lips as she rode your hand wildly. You couldn’t believe that you were here, pinned below Asami Sato and deep inside her and that she wanted this. She wanted _you_.

You followed the erratic rolling of her hips and kept your palm against her, and every time you met her thrusts with a _press_ and a _curl_ , her hips shook against you and her brow furrowed just slightly. “Korra, _yes_.”

You moaned at the fucking _sound_ of her want, and her hands moved to your hair, tugging hard and bringing your mouth to hers. You felt your name against your lips and you drove into her, hard. _“Korra!”_ she cried as she fell over the edge, shuddering and writhing in your arms as you slowed your thrusts.

You cradled her in your arms as she came down, breathing against your neck. You slid out of her and tucked her panties gently back into place. She huffed a tired laugh. “I’m going to have to throw those away.” You snickered and she sat up in your lap. “Now,” Asami said firmly, the authority returning to her voice as she met your gaze with her own steely one. “Lie down. I need to taste you.”

Your mouth dropped open in surprise and your eyelids fluttered. “Oh my dear _fuck_ ,” you groaned as you fell sideways beneath her.

 

13.

That morning, you dreamt you were running.

There would always be little reminders, since the accident, of before. A lingering look or pitying smile from strangers. An itch, or a faint pinch, an echo of what was no longer there. A dream of you moving the way you used to. You would wake up and remember all over again, and you would swallow your disappointment, just as you did every time you had one of those dreams.

But unlike all those other mornings, it wasn’t disappointment you felt that morning. It was complete contentment.

She smelled like flowers. You didn’t know which ones—all of them, you supposed—but figured that if you woke up every morning to her scent for the rest of your life, you would never wake up disappointed again.

You were wrapped around her, your face buried in her hair. Your arm, tucked under hers, lifted fractionally with her every breath.

You traced your fingers over the ridges and the valleys of her skin, ghosting over her shoulders, down her arms and over her waist. She snorted lightly and giggled in her sleep. She was ticklish. You hadn’t known that.

There was so much you didn’t know about her. You didn’t know what her favorite food was, or her favorite movie. You didn’t know if she had always wanted to be an engineer, or if she had other aspirations as a child. You didn’t know what brand of makeup she used.

But those were all things you could probably read in some magazine. What you couldn’t read in some magazine, and what you already knew, was that she couldn’t cook to save her life. You knew she smoked occasionally, but that one pack usually lasted her months. You knew she stayed up too late and woke up too early. You knew she was harder on herself than she was on others. You knew she cared so much that it hurt her, sometimes, but it would never stop her from doing so.

You knew what she felt like, what she tasted like. You knew she liked _biting,_ and _scratching_ , and what your name sounded like on her lips when she was lost in euphoria.

You couldn’t wait to learn more.

You slid your fingers over her waist again and let your arm drift over her stomach as you found her hand. Her stomach clenched at the sensation, and her fingers gripped yours. She sighed, “Mmmmstoooop.”

You huffed a laugh against her skin and she turned over gracelessly, flopping onto her back. _“Kooorra,”_ she whined.

“Yes?” you whispered, hovering over her.

She blindly reached up and cupped your cheeks—except she more like _squeezed_ them, making you laugh harder. “Stop that,” she said with a pout.

You chuckled. “Yes, love.”

She blinked several times very quickly and her blurry eyes focused on you. She studied you for a long moment before whispering, “You love me,” like a prayer.

You smiled. This girl. “Yes, love.”

“I love you,” she said, just as softly.

Oh, you would never get tired of hearing that from her. “Yes, love.”

She nodded, satisfied, and let her hands fall to her sides as she closed her eyes. “So make me breakfast,” she commanded.

You snorted in amusement. “Yes, love.” You kissed her, and her lips moved lazily against yours.

You moved to the edge of your bed, sitting up, and realized that at some point the night before you had taken your prosthetic off. That wasn’t a thing you did in front of others—other than Opal or Katara— but apparently you had felt safe enough with Asami to do so.

You glanced back at her as you retrieved your Wire from where it lay, halfway beneath your bed and put it on. It all seemed so startlingly _right_. Her, half asleep with her arms curled around your pillow. You, watching her, thinking of the things you could do for her to make her happy.

“How about omelettes?” you asked as you dressed next to the bed.

“Only if the eggs are expired,” she joked as she burrowed further under your blanket.

You laughed. “I don’t know if I can help you there. How about pancakes?”

“Blueberry?” she asked, her voice muffled.

“Blueberry,” you agreed. “I’ll go get some.”

“Mmk,” she hummed.

“I’ll be right back,” you told her quietly before pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“I know,” she mumbled sleepily. “I’ll wait for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Project Wire is based on William Root's [Exo](https://www.behance.net/gallery/20696469/Exo-Prosthetic-Leg) design. 
> 
> This is effectively a one-shot, though I had intentions of writing the story from Asami's perspective as well. It's still somewhat likely, so I'll leave the fic as multi-chaptered for now.
> 
> Thanks bazaar u da real mvp
> 
> ([Tumblr](http://golarisa.tumblr.com/))


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